Leaving It All Behind
by Her Fantasy
Summary: There's more to Argus Filch than most people know. Discover his deep, dark past . . . and find out what he's been keeping secret.


**Leaving It All Behind**

Argus. That was a start. What kind of parents named their child _Argus?_ He knew the story of Argus, which his parents had told him countless times. Did his parents like the idea of having eyes all over your body? Because he was perfectly happy with just two.

Argus wasn't the only one who didn't like his name. All the children made fun of him for it. Every time he came home crying, his parents did nothing save tell him not to let them bother him. But they did bother him. How was he supposed to stop that?

His name was not the worst, though. The worst part was that he never got his letter from Hogwarts. It wasn't a surprise when it didn't come. He had never shown any hint of magical ability, and his parents were convinced he was a Squib. But he clung onto the hope that the letter would arrive, that he was just a late bloomer. When the summer after his eleventh birthday came and went, and he received no Hogwarts letter, it confirmed his parents' suspicions. And poor Argus was miserable, forced to remain in Muggle school, never to learn magic.

He dropped out before he even got to high school. He couldn't stand it, being around all those clueless Muggles instead of a school that taught magic, where he belonged. He spent much of his free time alone in his room, trying to do magic. He hadn't the faintest idea how to begin. His parents always just waved their wands and said an incantation. He didn't have a wand, of course. When he'd first tried practicing, he had made up his own form of channeling his magical energy.

"Right," he muttered to himself, pointing a finger at a crumpled tissue lying on his bedroom floor. "You're still now, but you're going to move. Okay? Move . . . move . . . move . . . just move . . . please . . . you don't even have to move, really, just _rustle_ or something . . . come on . . ."

Nothing happened.

He sighed. He shouldn't have expected anything to happen. If he'd had any magic in him, he would have been accepted to Hogwarts and would not have had to go to Muggle school. He picked up the tissue and threw it in the garbage, which eagerly devoured it.

The next time he tried it, he had no luck either.

The third time, the tissue moved.

It was just a tiny little flutter, but it made Argus gasp and stare at it. A wide grin slowly spread across his face. Had he done that? Had he . . . The tissue fluttered again. Argus couldn't believe it. He had done it again, and without even trying! It was almost as if it had moved by itself! He stared at the tissue, wondering how he had done it. Then, suddenly, he felt a horrible sinking sensation, realizing what must have happened. He looked at his window, and, sure enough, it was open a crack, letting in a small breeze. He had not done anything.

For a while after that, Argus dared not try again for fear that the same sort of thing might happen. He did not want to get his hopes up again, only to get them crushed once more.

Finally, he decided to try again. This time, he nicked his mother's wand and tried using it. This, of course, did nothing, but it made Argus feel like he had a chance of getting somewhere. He started doing it again and again, taking each of his parents' wands in turn. But he could only do it at times when they wouldn't notice, like when they were asleep. He wanted to do it _all_ the time.

So the next time his parents took him to Diagon Alley, he slipped away from them into a deserted side street. He looked around for something big and heavy and found a decent-looking log. Hardly daring to believe his luck—where had that come from?—Argus picked it up, went to a corner, and held it steady, waiting for someone to come.

A skinny boy came around the corner, looking over his shoulder nervously as he walked. That was too bad for him, because he never saw the log coming. Before he even knew what was happening, it had hit him on the head, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Argus dropped the log, bent over, and started searching for the boy's wand. He found it in his back pocket. Looking around quickly to make sure nobody else was there, he snatched the wand and placed it in his own pocket. He made sure his shirt covered it, so no one would see it. Argus glanced at the boy one last time before running away from that side street as fast as he could. Now all he had to do was find his parents and hope they were just about done with their shopping and ready to go home.

* * *

Now that he had a wand, Argus felt like he might be able to get somewhere. He spent hours at a time practicing, even though he never got any results. His parents never bothered asking what he was doing up there. They were just happy to not have to deal with him.

Weeks turned into months, and soon three years had passed, and Argus was now sixteen. He started trying to figure out what he wanted to do for a living, when he got older. He didn't want to work for Muggles, but was there a such thing as a job for wizards that didn't require the use of magic?

Of course, he didn't have to get a job. He could make his money from stealing things. He had already taken a wand that wasn't his, and several enchanted objects, for over the past few years he'd stolen various things that had been bewitched but that didn't need magic to operate (this way, he could do things that defied natural law even though he couldn't perform magic himself).

In fact, the more he thought about it, the more appealing an illegal future became. He knew how to steal things the Muggle way. He didn't need magic for that. But making it his lifestyle...

Argus decided that was his best bet and began preparing. He began stealing useless things more and more often, practicing. He would use the same techniques to get the more valuable things, but he was afraid of getting caught, and somehow he didn't want to risk taking anything of worth.

Years passed.

His parents soon began talking about him getting married and living on his own instead of under their support. At first he wanted to stay with them, but then he realized he would have to go. What would be the point of spending time stealing those things if he wasn't going to use the skills he'd developed?

He left the house and began supporting himself. He started taking money instead of worthless trinkets. To assuage his guilt, Argus only took what was necessary to make a living . . . though of course he had a very different idea than others of exactly how much was necessary.

He still couldn't help nicking enchanted objects here and there. Magic greatly fascinated Argus, for he couldn't do it. He had long since given up on being able to perform it. He was a Squib, and he knew it was no use. But he still wanted to look at it, examine it, admire it.

It was because of this interest that he got caught.

He had taken a sack of Galleons from a young wizard, about his age, who lived alone. He was about to leave when he caught sight of a little glass ball with a sleeping figure inside. It was lying on the wizard's bedside table. Something about it mesmerized him. Argus began walking toward it. He had always wanted to take a painting, for company, but he knew that the occupants of paintings had a tendency to leave their pictures, and he didn't want to risk anyone knowing about him. But this was perfect, and beautiful. . . .

"That's my wand."

Argus whirled around, aiming his wand at the no-longer-sleeping wizard. He had never been caught since his childhood, when he only stole valueless items, and so he didn't know what might happen to him now. But he knew that if he pretended he could do magic and threatened the wizard, the man might be scared and let him go.

"If you do anything, I'll blast you to pieces," he said, keeping his voice cool.

The wizard completely ignored his threat. "That's my wand you've got," he said calmly.

Stunned, Argus lowered the wand. It couldn't be this wizard's wand. It was _his._ Even if he couldn't do magic, he still had a wand, and this was it. _But it hadn't always been his_. Remembering how he had originally obtained the wand, Argus turned to stare at the man's face.

He hadn't looked at the boy for too long, but he remembered his basic features, and now Argus could see the resemblance. How had this happened? This man from whom he was stealing was the victim of his first-ever act of thievery!

"I'll tell you what," the man was saying. "I admire your character. Oh, yes, I know who you are. And I don't want my wand back, don't worry. I've got a new one I'm happy with. For curiosity's sake, though, I started searching for the person who stole my first wand a few years back. It took some time, but I found him, found _you._ And then I started watching you. As I said before, I admire you. I've never heard of or seen anyone quite like you—a Squib stealing from magical folk! Yes, I know you're a Squib," he added, when Argus jumped.

"How . . . ?" Argus was at a loss for words.

"I've been watching you, I said. And I know how miserable you feel. You know that you could've been a wizard, you _should've_ been one, but you were robbed of your rights and left in this powerless state. It's much worse than being a Muggle, because you know what could have been yours. You're weak, vulnerable. You could be killed so easily. I can help you with that.

"I can make you immortal. Well, not immortal, because it can be destroyed, but you won't die if someone kills you. What I'm talking about is a Horcrux. Do you know what that is?"

"I—yes!" gasped Argus. "I've heard—but I can't do magic—"

The wizard smiled. "You won't need to. I can do that part for you. The only thing you need to do . . . is kill."

* * *

Looking back, Argus never could figure out exactly why he'd agreed. It was hard to believe that he had ever been that desperate. His past was a troubled, dark one, and this was the darkest part of it, the one he always tried to forget: the murder of an innocent person.

At least he hadn't wanted to kill anyone. He'd done it reluctantly. The person he chose was an old man, one who had been in his early eighties. Argus thought he'd be able to kill him easily, since he was about to go anyway. But as he stood over the man's bedside, he almost backed down.

The man was sleeping, completely defenseless. It was easier that way. Argus was glad that the wizard was waiting outside, not here to see him hesitate.

He had to get this over with, though, or he would never do it. Taking a deep breath, Argus clasped his hands over the man's throat and squeezed. He watched the man's skin slowly change color. He wanted to stop doing this . . . but he couldn't. Now his face was purple. . . .

Finally the deed was done. Argus Filch had killed a man.

He ran outside, back to the wizard. At least the wizard would be proud of him, he thought, because he knew he would always be ashamed of himself for what he did.

"You've done it?" the wizard asked when he saw him emerging from the front door.

Argus nodded, gulping.

"Come here . . ."

Argus approached him. He saw the wizard's lips move, heard words form . . . and then a part of him was violently ripped from his body. It was not a physical pain, but that made it all the more excruciating. He felt like his whole being was on fire. All he could see was a fierce white light. His eyes were not working properly, and neither was the rest of his body. He heard nothing save the piercing cries of his soul, felt nothing but the pain, the great, terrible pain that was worse than anything he could have imagined. . . .

And then it was over. The pain was gone. The night was cool again. His body was working. He was outside the now dead old man's house, lying on the ground. Instead of seeing the night sky, he was looking up into the wizard's eyes.

"Why am I on the ground?" Argus mumbled.

"You just collapsed," was the reply. "Don't worry, it's completely normal. But I've got your Horcrux, and that's what you want."

Argus felt like there was nothing he wanted less, but he didn't say this aloud. "Where is it?" he asked instead, pushing himself up into a standing position.

Instead of answering, the wizard held out his arms for Argus to see the little kitten he was holding. It turned its gaze to Argus. It did not make a sound, but it gave him a look that had some sort of _understanding_ in it. There was something about this cat that wasn't natural . . . Argus nearly yelped when he realized the truth.

"That's . . . that cat . . . it's got my . . . you made . . . _that's_ my Horcrux?" he spluttered.

The wizard nodded, placing the kitten on the ground. "It's an experiment I've been dying to try. How will it affect the animal? Will its life last as long as the wizard? If not, what happens to the soul fragment when it dies? Will the animal be connected to the wizard? You were the perfect subject for the experiment, because of course you couldn't make your own—"

With a cry of anger, Argus lunged for the man, interrupting his speech. The man pulled out his wand and flicked him aside lazily. Argus landed on the ground, panting.

"How could you? It could have gone horribly wrong! I could have _died!_"

"That would make no difference to me."

Argus jumped up, this time going for the man's throat. Again he was easily stopped.

"Dear me, you're getting violent these days," said the wizard, his tone still frustratingly calm. "I do feel bad that I keep knocking you aside. But if I don't you may have _two_ murders on your conscience, and we wouldn't want that, would we? No, I think it would be best if I left."

"NO!" Argus roared, but the wizard had already Disapparated with a _pop!_ For a few moments, he stood there, breathing hard. Then he sank to the ground and, like he had done so many times as a young boy, began to weep.

* * *

As years went by, he discovered that the wizard had been right in that he was connected to the cat. The cat was far more intelligent than a cat should be, and it—she—could send messages to him when she wanted to, through their minds. It was a scary thing, being linked with an animal, but somehow he didn't mind it so much, and he grew to care for the cat, whom he named Mrs. Norris.

She was useful when he stole. She was like another pair of eyes for him, ready to warn him when there was danger. But he found he was stealing less and less. The epsiode with the wizard had shaken him up. He seemed to finally see what he was becoming, and he didn't like it. At first he stopped stealing little trinkets from magical houses and took only what he needed or really wanted. Then he stopped taking things he wanted and took only what was ultimately necessary to survive. But even that was too much. He wanted a job, but didn't know how to get one. He still didn't want to think of working for Muggles, but it seemed like that was his only choice.

Then he finally found what he was looking for. An ad in _The Daily Prophet_ one summer said that a caretaker was needed for Hogwarts. If he got the job, he'd be able to finally see the school he'd always wanted to attend! He could clean without magic. He'd have to tell the headmaster that he was a Squib, though, or he would ask why he was cleaning the school like a Muggle. Better to be truthful from the start, or he would be fired when he was found out.

Argus traveled back to his parents' house for the first time since he'd left. He wondered if they were still there.

They were.

He begged his mother to take him to Hogsmeade using Side-Along Apparition. She obliged.

From there, he walked to Hogwarts. Mrs. Norris was with him, as she always was. According to what he'd read in the newspaper, appointments did not have to be scheduled. The gates to the school were open, as were the doors, to anyone wishing to apply for the job. They simply had to walk through the doors to be interviewed by the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

Now, as he approached the gates and saw that they were indeed open, he began to feel nervous. What if he didn't get the job? His mother was waiting for him at the Three Broomsticks. He'd planned to tell her afterward why he had made her take him here, but how embarrassing would it be if he was so pathetic, he couldn't even be a caretaker? There was no way he could tell his mother if he was rejected.

His fears, of course, were pointless. Albus Dumbledore was a kind old man, and he asked only a few simple questions, such as why Argus wanted the job. Argus told him that he was a Squib and wanted deperately to be employed by magical folk, to stay in the magical world even though he was not gifted like the other witches and wizards were. Argus was surprised when Dumbledore announced that he'd be the new caretaker.

"Really? I get the job, just like that?" he asked eagerly.

"My dear man, you will only be the caretaker. Did you expect to somehow _not_ get it?" His warm eyes sparkled, and Argus couldn't help but smile.

"Can I bring my cat?" he blurted, motioning to Mrs. Norris, who had made herself comfortable on a chair.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Oh, yes!" he exclaimed. "Hogwarts is full of animals, and any more won't make much of a difference. She'll be fully welcomed."

* * *

His mother, again, was the one who took him where he needed to go. She'd been delighted when he'd told her about the job. Though she never said it aloud, Argus knew she suspected that he'd been doing illegal activities, and that was why she was so pleased with him. When he told her he needed to be taken to King's Cross Station on the morning of September the 1st, she was more than happy to do it.

And so, at 8:00 in the morning, Argus was aboard the faculty train, feeling delighted with the life ahead of him. He was turning over a new leaf. No more stealing. No more _worrying_. Nobody knew about his dark past, and for that he was grateful. It was behind him now, and he fully intended to keep it there. From now on, he thought happily, Argus Filch would be an honest man.

**Author's Note: I always wondered how when Mrs. Norris caught a student doing something bad, Filch was somehow there in no time. So I came up with this story as an explanation. I hope you liked it!**


End file.
